


Let Me Clean You Up

by tuesdaymidnight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Kink, M/M, Shameless Smut, Situational Humiliation, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:36:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaymidnight/pseuds/tuesdaymidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles learns two things after being surprise attacked by a monster in the woods. One, the phrase “scare the piss out of” isn't just a figure of speech, and two, his werewolf boyfriend is kind of into it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Clean You Up

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up in the middle of the night and started writing this. IDEK. My subconscious is a kinky place. 
> 
> A huge thank you to [OnTheTurningAway](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ontheturningaway) for doing a super speedy beta job on this today. 
> 
> And I totally stole the monster from D&D.

The owlbear struck with no warning. It must have masked its scent somehow with magic, because one minute Derek and Stiles were checking on mysterious tracks that Isaac had spotted near a cave out in the preserve, and the next, Stiles was underneath a monstrous, mutant, feather-covered bear with a beak where a mouth should be. 

It was a bad move on the owlbear's part, because Derek was able to strike quickly and brutally. The thing about owlbears was that for all their ferociousness and size, they were actually very easy to kill, vulnerable in all the same spots as any other bear. Derek was still picking feathers out of his teeth when he turned to Stiles to see if he was all right, except, Stiles wasn't lying on the ground where he had been.

Derek immediately caught wind of his scent moving in the direction of the burned-out Hale house. Along with the unmistakable scent of urine. 

He caught up with him easily.

“Stiles.”

“Can we not? It was an involuntary reaction! I shouldn't have had a second Coke at dinner.” His attempt at humor to defuse the situation fell flat.

“Stiles, I--” he began. He wanted to be reassuring, but the scent of urine hit him so strongly, he didn't think about what he was doing. He dropped to his knees in front of Stiles and inhaled, running his nose up the wet patch in the front of Stiles' jeans. In spite of his obvious embarrassment, he felt Stiles' cock twitch as Derek traced alongside it and back down. Derek sucked at the denim, the taste of urine blooming on his tongue and Stiles' dick getting hard under the heat of Derek's breath.

“Oh my god, Derek what--?”

But he cut himself off when Derek opened his jeans, rolling them and his soiled boxer briefs down enough to pull his cock free. He licked first, lapping his tongue at Stiles' dick, cleaning the acrid dampness off the sensitive skin. 

Were Stiles not so totally thrown by what was happening, Derek knew there would be a dog joke in there somewhere.

He licked until the flavor of piss was faint, Stiles' own musky taste replacing it. Stiles was fully erect now, his embarrassment fading, hesitantly bringing his hands up to grip Derek's hair as Derek took him fully into his mouth. He didn't tease, taking Stiles deep, providing the hard suction he knew Stiles liked. 

Stiles pulled at Derek's hair harder, making him groan around Stiles' dick, the vibration sending him over the edge as he came with a gasp, filling Derek's mouth with a different bitter taste. Derek sucked at the head of Stiles' cock, drawing out the last drops off come until Stiles started to tremble, too sensitive for Derek's ministrations. 

Derek normally would have tucked Stiles back into his clothes, but instead he took off Stiles' shoes, helping him out of his jeans and underwear right there in the middle of the forest, Stiles still either too shocked or too post-orgasmic to speak. Once he had replaced Stiles' shoes, Stiles finally seemed to recover his voice.

“So let me get this straight. I was attacked by an owlbear and so scared I pissed myself. And you were so turned on by me being so scared I pissed myself that you decided you needed to clean me up with your tongue and then try to suck my brain out through my cock.”

“Well, I could do without that you being scared part.”

Stiles blinked a few times. “I--I--I can't talk about this right now. I'm humiliated and maybe turned on a little and there's a body of a half-bear, half-owl out there that you need to take care of. So I'm going to go home and probably have a panic attack in the shower.”

Derek reached for Stiles' hand, but Stiles backed away.

“No. No, I really want to deal with this alone. Okay? You take care of doing whatever you need to do to dispose of a shitton of feathers. I'll be fine.”

“There might be another one,” Derek said quietly. “They usually travel with their mate. At least let me walk with you to the jeep.”

“Fine.”

They walked in silence. In spite of Stiles' habit of nervous babble, Derek learned Stiles also enjoyed silence in the year and a half since they’d started dating. Some evenings they would spend together in total silence, both reading or watching a movie, and it was comfortable to feel so connected to someone such that words weren't always necessary.

This silence, though, was decidedly uncomfortable, but Derek was never good at diffusing tension. So he stayed alert instead, listening for any sign of a second owlbear.

Stiles kept a change of clothes in his Jeep. He slept over at Derek's enough, or got maimed and bloodied by various supernatural creatures, sometimes friendly ones, that it was only practical. He shrugged on a pair of track pants and then wordlessly got into the Jeep. He didn't even kiss Derek as he shut the door.

“Let me know when you get home, okay?”

Stiles nodded.

They didn't talk about it after that night, and things went mostly back to normal after a few days. Stiles was his open and affectionate self. His libido certainly wasn't damaged by the encounter, but sometimes he would blush before leaving the room to go take a piss. The week after it happened, he had stayed over at Derek's, not having class until the afternoon, and when he was digging through Derek's laundry, clean but not put away, he found the boxer briefs and jeans he had been wearing that night. He threw them back in the basket looking absolutely mortified. 

But he didn't speak about it again. 

Derek figured it was just one of those embarrassing things that happened between couples that you just accepted and moved on from. 

Except Derek couldn't get it out of his head.

In fact, he was kind of obsessed with it. Every time Stiles went to the bathroom, he couldn't help but tune in, listening to the stream hitting the bowl, trying to catch the scent of urine before Stiles flushed. When they were lying in bed together in the morning, and Stiles announced his intention to get up, Derek could hardly contain himself, wanting to hold Stiles down on the bed, keeping him there until he couldn't hold it anymore and burst, pissing himself and the bed, soaking through the sheets and the mattress.

Derek jerked off to the image at least once a day, sometimes letting the fantasy escalate to thinking about Stiles letting Derek piss on him, wetting him even more, and then letting Derek clean him up with his tongue.

It had finally escalated so far that one night while Derek had Stiles on his hands and knees, thrusting into him hard and fast, he couldn't come without thinking about Stiles pissing himself. 

That's when he knew he was going to have to man up and talk to Stiles about it.

It was a Friday evening; they had stayed in and eaten Chinese takeout, and Stiles was digging around in the kitchen cupboards, looking for something to eat for dessert. 

“Why do you have, like, eight boxes of pudding mix? I've never seen you eat pudding. It's not even the instant kind; it's the kind you have to heat on the stove. Do you do this when I'm not around? Cook an entire batch of pudding and then guiltily eat it all?”

“Stiles.”

“Oh, score! Oreos. How long have these been in here? I guess it doesn't matter. There are so few natural ingredients in them, it's not like they can really go bad.”

“Stiles,” Derek tried again.

This time the tone in his voice made Stiles stop and turn, looking at Derek where he was perched on one of the kitchen stools, shifting uncomfortably.

He tried again. “Stiles, can I--”

“Use your words, Derek.”

“I want to talk to you about something.”

“O-kay.”

“Something sexual.”

Stiles face turned an impressive shade of red in a matter of seconds. 

“If this is what I think it's going to be about, no. No. That was a one time thing and it was totally embarrassing, and I'd really rather not think about it again.”

“But you said--never mind.” He fought the urge to slink away and hide. He hated this. He hated trying to be open, when, after Kate, he had trained himself to keep everything hidden, locked away. It had taken a few years before he admitted to Stiles that he trusted him, even after they started sleeping together during Stiles' senior year of high school.

“What did I say?” Stiles asked gently, as if he understood Derek's private war. 

“It's nothing. I'll drop it.”

“No, what did I say?” He took a step closer to Derek and reached for his hand where it rested on the counter.

“You said, when we started this--this relationship, that it wouldn't work unless we talked about things like limits and--and being open to each other's hangups and...kinks.” It was Derek's turn to blush. 

Stiles inhaled sharply.

“I did say that. And I meant it.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “So, is this--is this one of those things for you? A kink?”

Derek hung his head, unable to look at Stiles when he mumbled his affirmative response.

“No werewolf hearing here, buddy.”

Derek lifted his eyes until they met Stiles' open expression. “Yes. I--I didn't know it was until it happened, but I can't, I can't stop thinking about it.”

Stiles ran a hand over his face and muttered something to himself that was too low for even Derek to catch. He sat down on the stool across from Derek. 

“Maybe if I understood why?”

Derek nodded. “It might be a scent thing.”

“But that's, like, one of the strongest, least appealing smells ever. How could that--?”

“But it was mixed with the smell of you.”

“Oh.”

“And I don't know. You were completely vulnerable, and you're never vulnerable, ever. You're always a little on edge and ready for whatever comes and unphased and strong. Even when all the crazy shit that goes on around here happens, you take it all in stride. You're tough, and when I push you, you push back. And I love all of that about you. But that night you just let me, you let me take care of you, and I--it was nice.”

Stiles jaw dropped a little. Derek very rarely told Stiles he loved him. He rarely doled out praise. He tried to show Stiles all the time, in all the ways he could, but words weren't usually one of them. 

Derek swallowed. Stiles was staring hard at him. It used to unnerve Derek, the way it felt like Stiles could actually see inside him, past all the ugly scars and emotional damage, and to the very core of his being. Now, Derek stared back, silently asking for Stiles to give him this.

“Okay,” Stiles finally said. 

“What?”

“Okay, okay. I admit that the end result wasn't unpleasant. But we do this on my terms.”

So that's how Derek found himself in his bathroom two nights later, with Stiles wearing nothing but a pair of white briefs, drinking his second glass of water in the last five minutes. 

Derek sat on the edge of the tub, gripping it so tight he thought he might damage the porcelain. 

“You chose to wear white on purpose,” he blurted out.

“Shut up. I'm trying to undo 18 or so years of being potty trained right now.”

Derek shut up immediately, but he couldn't help but stare at Stiles' crotch, the bulge nestled in white cotton. Stiles set the glass down on the counter and then turned to face Derek. Derek chanced a glance up at his face; Stiles' eyes were squeezed tight and he was mouthing the words, “Relax. Just let go.”

Derek fidgeted, already uncomfortably hard in anticipation, but he didn't speak, focusing his eyes back squarely on Stiles' crotch. 

And then finally, finally, Derek heard Stiles gasp. There was a slight twitch that seemed to go through Stiles' whole body, and then a dark spot appeared at the front of his briefs. 

“Fuck,” Derek murmured, mesmerized as the wet patch began to spread, saturating the fabric until the outline of Stiles' cock was obvious through the material. 

Derek did nothing but watch until a drop started to roll down Stiles' leg, and he couldn't take it anymore. He lurched forward, grabbing Stiles' hip for balance, and then leaned in and licked, tracing the drop up the inside of Stiles' thigh. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles gasped. Derek couldn't tell if it was a good “oh my god” or an embarrassed one. 

But he didn't care. He sat back for a few moments, tracing Stiles' hip bone with his thumb, watching and waiting as more of the yellowish liquid started to run down Stiles' leg in a trickling stream. Then he ducked back down and caught the trail with his tongue before it could reach Stiles’ knee. He let it pool in his mouth for a second before swallowing. And then repeated the process again. And again. 

“I can't,” Stiles finally choked out. 

Derek lapped at the last trail of piss with his tongue and then moved up to Stiles' semi-hard cock. Just like he had before in the woods, he wrapped his mouth over as much of the damp fabric as he could and sucked. Only this time it was thin cotton instead of heavy denim. He tried to wring the briefs out with his sucking, pulling the fabric away from Stiles' cock and squeezing it with the suction of his mouth.

“Fuck, Derek.”

“Mmm...” was all Derek could respond, too far gone to speak, the combined smell of Stiles' piss and nervous, excited sweat overwhelming him. He maneuvered himself so he could take the head of Stiles' cock in his mouth, the piss-soaked fabric still pulled taut over it. With his free hand he reached under the waistband, slipping it down and wrapping his hand around the base of Stiles' dick, sticky from the drying urine. It was an awkward angle, but he pumped his hand the best he could while still suckling on the head.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Stiles started to chant, thrusting his hips forward in small movements. His hand involuntarily tightened around the back of Derek's head, a sure sign he was close. 

“I'm coming. I'm coming,” he gasped out.

The taste of Stiles come shooting into the cotton briefs mingled with the taste of piss in Derek's mouth, and he couldn't hold back a loud moan. He sucked as much of Stiles' spunk through the piss-soaked cotton as he could. As Stiles trembled above him, swearing.

He had ignored his own erection, but as Stiles came down, pulling Derek's head away, friction became Derek's focus.

He wanted to peel the soggy briefs down Stiles' legs, taking them off and then jerk off into them, but the urge to get off right that second was too much. He'd just have to rescue them before Stiles had a chance to do laundry and give into the fantasy later. 

Derek was wearing sweats so it was easy to reach his hand down the front and stroke himself off. He pumped his cock, his hand carrying the scent of Stiles' piss, mingling with the scent of Derek's musk, but he needed more. 

He leaned forward and Stiles' complied, pushing his messy crotch in Derek's face. Derek nuzzled his nose against Stiles' softening cock, inhaling deeply the smell of piss and jizz and Stiles as he came hard in his fist.

When he managed to sit back, wiping his hand off on his sweats, he kept his eyes down, not willing to face Stiles' reaction. He didn't want to know if it had been too embarrassing for Stiles to ever consider doing again, or worse, if this could possibly be what broke them, if this was the final straw of weirdness that broke the life Derek and Stiles were starting to build together.

“Hey.” Stiles' voice was soft as his hand came forward to cup under Derek's chin, forcing him to look up. “You alright down there?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“I'm kind of a mess, but I'm good. I'm good. That was intense. I had no idea it would be like that.”

Derek smiled, hoping it would convey what words couldn't. Stiles carded a hand through his hair affectionately. 

“I'm kind of gross now, though. I need to clean up.”

Derek nodded, and then reached over to turn on the water in the tub. He was still processing what had happened as he stripped off his sweats and t-shirt. He was overwhelmed by what Stiles had been willing to do for him, just to make him happy, fulfilling some part of him he didn't know was lacking. 

As they washed off in the shower, Derek pulled Stiles close, wrapping his arms around him until their bodies were flush. 

“Thank you,” Derek finally whispered reverently against Stiles' lips.

“Love you too,” Stiles whispered back before closing the last bit of distance between them.


End file.
